Warrior’s
Apprentice
Alysha
Ellis
Combat-hardened Dvallin warrior Tybor has no room in
his life for softness or sentiment. His job is to train the soldiers who stand
between his people and destruction. He instantly despises Huon, his newest
recruit, dismissing him as weak.
But Huon is determined to prove his worth. He accepts
all the challenges Tybor throws at him, passing every test, until Tybor finds
himself waging his own battle against his growing attraction to his apprentice
warrior.
When Tybor discovers Huon is to be sent on a suicide
mission to the human world, to infiltrate and destroy enemy headquarters by
seducing Judie, the enemy’s weapons expert, he cannot let him go alone.
The ménage-a-trois seduction works as planned but
Tybor is threatened by the emotions their passionate relationship triggers. He
tries to deny the feelings Judie and Huon arouse in him while they flee their
pursuers in a deadly race for survival.
To have a hope for the future, the master must bury
his old prejudices and let himself learn from the warrior’s apprentice.
An Excerpt From: WARRIOR’S APPRENTICE
Copyright © ALYSHA ELLIS, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing,
Inc.
Tybor
folded his arms across his heavily muscled chest, spread his legs wide and
ran his gaze over the slender young man in front of him. He let his lip
curl into a sneer and turned to speak over his shoulder to the captain of
the guard.
“I
work with Dvalinn warriors, not weakling
schoolboys.”
The
captain stepped forward to stand next to the young man he’d brought down to
Tybor’s rooms.
“Huon’s an adult, Tybor, and
he’s passed every assessment with flying colors.”
Tybor
snorted and his voice, already deep, dropped even lower. “You called me
away from a training session to discuss this? Look at him,” he scoffed.
“He’s as lily-white and green as a snowdrop. A strong breeze would break
him.”
The
boy—Tybor refused to call him a man—lifted his
head and their gazes met.
“I
don’t have to be three feet wide across the shoulders to be strong. I can
do anything you need me to do.”
Eyes
narrowed, hands on hips, Tybor glared at the boy.
Generations of hardened soldiers had quailed under that fierce look. The
boy stared right back, blue eyes wide, his gaze open, hands clenched
lightly by his sides.
“You’re
supposed to be the best,” he said.
The
captain nodded at Huon. “He is.” Then he turned
back to Tybor. “Huon is
unique among the Dvalinn. We need him and we need him battle ready.” He lifted one brow and
asked, “Are you telling me you can’t
do it?”
Dust
and sweat stained Tybor’s combat pants. “I can
train him. Whether he can handle it is a different matter.” He returned his
attention to the boy. “If you work with me you will work harder than you
ever have before. You will do whatever I tell you, whenever and however I
tell you. No arguments, no questions, no rest. If you so
much as falter, you’re done. Do you understand?”
The
boy didn’t blink. “Yes.”
“Yes, sir,” Tybor
snapped.
The
boy hesitated.
“At
once.”
”Yes,
sir.” Although the words were correct, the edge of defiance the boy used
robbed them of any deference or subservience. His shoulders remained
square, firm and unmoving.
The
captain touched his cap in a silent salute and left the room, pulling the
door shut behind him.
Tybor
took a step forward. He picked up the boy’s arm, pushed his baggy shirt up,
wrapped his fingers around his forearm and squeezed. Silken ivory skin
covered a layer of surprisingly firm muscle. The boy’s smooth flesh burned
against Tybor’s hand. He released him and stepped
back, resisting the urge to clutch his tingling palm to his chest.
“Do
you understand what we do? What I
do?”
The
boy’s gaze sharpened and his eyes glittered. “You train Dvalinn
warriors to go into the humans’ world, to destroy those who seek to
obliterate our kind.”
Tybor
nodded. “We are at war. And humans have weapons the Dvalinn
cannot and will not use.”
For
the first time uncertainty and confusion clouded the boy’s blue eyes.
“Humans and the Dvalinn are from the same stock.
How did we come to be at war?”
Tybor’s lips tightened. “Ask a historian. My job is to train
warriors.”
The
boy’s brows lifted. “Warriors who kill humans?”
Tybor
shook his head. “We don’t kill all humans. Only Gatekeepers. Most surface
dwellers don’t know we exist. But the Gatekeepers know. Know us and hate us
and have sworn to kill as many of our kind as they can. Dvalinn
warriors,” Tybor
laced the word with the scorn he felt for the boy in front of him, “come
here to learn the skills they need to stop them.”
“Have
you trained many of them personally…sir?” This time the tacked-on word
sounded more respectful, less of a challenge.
“Too
many.” Pain he refused to give in to gripped Tybor.
“Men—stronger, older, wiser than you will ever be. Each one trains for as
long as it takes to perfect his abilities and send him out into the world
to do battle.” Tybor poked a finger toward Huon’s narrow chest. “Most of them never return. This
is not a job for the weak, when even the strong do not survive.”
“But
you survived, sir. Your battles are legendary.” Color
rose in Huon’s cheeks,
flushing the ivory a delicate rose-pink.
Tybor’s breath stilled and he looked over the boy’s head. “Legendary
because they happened so long ago. For almost five hundred years I have
trained young men to do what I’m no longer permitted to.” He turned his
back on Huon and picked up the envelope the
captain had left on the bench seat of a weight-training machine. “I need to
know your assignment, to see if it’s possible to get you even halfway
ready.” He ran a finger under the flap of the envelope.
Huon
stepped forward and stretched to look over Tybor’s
shoulder.
Tybor
spun around. His hand shot out, slamming the boy to the ground before he
knew what was coming. Tybor hit hard, not caring
if he hurt him. If he couldn’t cut it, better to know it now before he made
a pretty, pale, useless corpse.
“You
only move if and when I tell you to,” he growled. “Drag your ass back up
and stand at attention.”
He
glanced at the kid. Blood ran down his cheek from a cut over his forehead
but he didn’t wipe it away or show any sign he’d noticed. This one might be worth the trouble of
training.
“From
this moment on, you don’t walk, eat, take a piss or breathe unless I give you the fucking order. Is that clear?”
“Yes,
sir.”
Tybor
pulled out the papers and read. The printed words, clear and unambiguous,
felt like lead weights on his shoulders.
The
boy remained at attention, showing no sign of submission or fear. Maybe it
would be better if he had. A coward wouldn’t last through Tybor’s harsh training regime, and if he couldn’t
finish the training, he couldn’t be sent on the mission described in the
papers Tybor clutched in his hand. He raised his
eyes and studied the young man in front of him. From the moment the chief
of staff had signed these orders, Huon—beautiful,
reed-slender, confident Huon—had joined the ranks
of the dead.
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